Polaris
by valentinosilkflowers
Summary: They used to be six, but now they're five. Five girls and boys born into the plush lap of luxury, destined to rule this empire that they call home, this Gotham that the world calls the UES. They have everything, yet nothing that they truly need. AU.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: I've always wanted to write a fanfic, especially one about our beloved Chair, but I've never had enough time, never this, never that (so being me I had to choose the busiest time of my school year to start seriously trying to work on something to churn out). I've stopped watching Gossip Girl for 2 months, or something like that now, because I really hate where they're going, not just because of the whole Ban fiasco but the general degradation of Blair's character…I nearly was going to change this to a Serena story, but, at the end of the day, the true Blair (and Blair and Chuck) has something that just does it for me, something I feel like other couples and characters don't have (though this season Serena comes very, very close). Anyway, it took me constant reruns of Real Blair (seasons 1-4, but most notably season 1-3.5 Blair) and lots of fanfic reading and Season of Love and With Me listening to become motivated enough to finally try and write something, but it's turned out to be just this amazing thing that makes my day and I really am loving every moment, in all honesty and it sounds cliché and cheesy and all, but it's true…and I'm hoping to make this quite multi-fic. Enough of the pointless rambling though, and I hope you enjoy it. I own nothing (not the show, not the characters, not Without You...I've just used them because I feel they fit in context to this story) except my imagination.

Updated Author's Note - as you can see, I started this pre-5x22 and now am motivated to write this again, most definitely about Blair Waldorf. Enjoy, and pretty please perhaps review so I know what I'm supposed to be doing? I really don't have a clue; I've never written a fanfic (let alone a multi-chapter fanfic or story) ever before ;P (but now with season finale (! CASINOS! THEY WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. PARIS WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. WE ARE YOUNG WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. QUEEN B IS BACK! CHAIR IS BACK!) I just cannot over my chair love. PM me all you want - rant, rave, whatever - over our beautiful ship?) This chapter is more so of a prologue, a sort of introduction to what this story is going to be about, since it's decidedly rather AU, and I have to establish this UES world first before anything major happens - there will be more action after, I promise!

* * *

**Polaris**

**Prologue:**

**Distinguishing Constellations**

_Tell me life is beautiful_

_They all think I have it all._

_I have nothing without you -_

_All my dreams and all the lights mean_

_Nothing without you._

* * *

She doesn't quite remember the first time she saw each of them, but perhaps if you grilled her long enough about it, she'd come up with a vague, dusty memory, blurred and faded from time passed. That's the funny thing about the people who become constant constellations in your sky – they all start out as irrelevant dots, just another person you know, no different than the next or the last, but without realization, without you noticing, they rise in importance, rise in individuality – once you can see how different they are from one another, how different a Cassiopeia is from an Orion – and you wonder how you ever lived without them, how you'd ever not live without them, and just how much you are to them (how fixed you are in their skies, how much of a North Star you are in the endless mass of tiny glimmering speckles).

Of course, she remembers the first time she met Serena though – but then again, who didn't, Blair Waldorf or not? Serena was everything a girl could want to be; an Aphrodite, charming and bewitching in everything she did, a seductress yet an ingénue all at once, perfect yet so effortlessly undone, the object of fascination of every man who had ever caught a glimpse of those impossibly long legs and perfectly bowed mouth, and the enigma and envy of every female, whether they could afford Valentino or not (not that Serena ever wore Valentino – she preferred her Alexander Wang and Versace). And as if as further facticity of her it girl status if anyone were to refute it, Serena van der Woodsen had also been graced with a golden crown on her head. Granted, a golden crown of beachy, elusive done-yet-not waves, but nonetheless a personal insult, it always seemed, to the reigning Queen of the Upper East Side – and by default Manhattan, New York, and the rest of America (because who was stupid enough to not know that New York, and Blair Waldorf, was better than them?). It wasn't so much the fact that Serena was blonde and Blair was not – Blair had absolutely no desire, and would never, she was adamantly sure, to become anything close to a bleached blonde, Californian-surfing-babe-like character anytime in her life – she liked her glossy mahogany-chestnut curls, soft and immaculate, thank you very much, all juxtaposed delicately by her porcelain complexion and matched by her chocolate-shaded, glimmering eyes – No, it was more so the fact that cerulean-eyed Serena, who breezed through life, got everything and anything and anybody without needing to apply herself whatsoever, whereas Blair had to work her Dior-clad ass off for every little thing she wanted and needed, no matter how small. The crown only seemed like the cherry on top for all the rest of the things Serena hadn't needed to work for.

The first time Blair met Serena, they were probably three or four at the time, being rushed by nanny and maid respectively to their ballet class, dainty little Bloch slippers on their feet, and Serena had been haphazardly twirling like a woodland fairy into the studio. No one had felt the need to tell the entrancing little girl to stop, or that it was distracting the class. In fact, if anything, it seemed as though Serena was the class, and that the class was about her – something Blair Waldorf, who was used to being the center of attention, was most definitely not happy with. She'd furrowed her brow at the spotlight stealer, drawn herself up to full height despite her tiny frame, and marched over with a determined air. Tapping the blonde on the shoulder, Blair had carefully articulated, "No one wastes my time." Then, with stealthiness rare in a preschooler, she'd swiped a dainty leg in Serena's path while the other girl was mid-leap, effectively toppling her off balance when she landed. With an awkwardness seldom seen again in her, Serena had crumpled to the ground, a mess of long limbs, and smashed her face into the polished wooden planks. Blair had simply given her an icy glare. Needless to say, Blair Waldorf had been born a natural bitch.

The result had been a black eye, bawling Serena, hyperventilating nanny, incensed Lily van der Woodsen, and ultimately, a two hour long phone call between famous designer Eleanor Waldorf and aforementioned renowned socialite Mrs. van der Woodsen, which ended, like most minor Upper East Side problems, with an invitation for coffee at Dean and Deluca's for the mothers and a playdate for the children.

Upon cautiously entering the tastefully decorated Waldorf penthouse and finishing proper introductions as was necessary, Serena had bunched up her burgundy knit Burberry dress nervously under her slender fingers, and ventured timidly to ask, "Why did you trip me, Blair? Do you really hate me that much?"

The dark-haired, smaller girl had sighed dramatically, and answered simply, "I don't like you because you stole my spot as the center when I have to work so hard for it."

"So you really hate me?" Serena had whispered, large blue eyes threatening to spill with tears.

"Yes," Blair had confirmed resolutely, and Serena silently burst into tears, while Blair continued, "Because I wish I was you. My mother wishes I was more like you so I wish I was more like you."

"But I like you, even though you're mean to me," Serena had said in her simple Serena way, courageously adding a watery smile, "I think you're very brave for telling me to stop. No one's ever told me to stop before, even if it was mean of you. Mom's never around to tell me not to do anything, and the nannies let me do whatever I want even if I know it's wrong."

Flattery was a powerful weapon, but it was her last sentence which changed Blair's attitude towards Serena, and despite her young age, she finally comprehended and no longer saw the blonde as her enemy and the reason her mother wanted her to be different, but rather as another person who had been given the world, but not the one thing they needed – an unconditionally loving mother. Dropping the indifferent exterior, Blair had flashed the other girl a dimpled smile, and said shyly, "I think you're brave too, for not always listening to the rules. I always listen to the rules…" she trailed off here, frowning at the statement, then declared with a beam, "I want you to be my best friend. I've never had a best friend before, you know." She focused on a spot on the marble floor for a moment, before mumbling, "Sorry about being a bad person to you, I guess. I like you now. You're super pretty too."

Serena's entire face had lit up at Blair's statement, and with a large, endearing grin, she dramatically announced, "Blair Waldorf, you are my best friend forever and ever and ever and ever." She then promptly enveloped the smaller girl in a giant hug, and when Blair hugged her back tighter, they sealed their pledge of friendship, starting what was to be the most important relationship in each girl's life.

* * *

The second clearest memory was nowhere near as vivid as her first time meeting Serena, but she still remembered it quite in detail nonetheless.

It was the weekend before Grade 2 started, and she was over at the van der Woodsen apartment for the girls' weekly sleepover to avoid the overbearing and controlling Eleanor now that she was back for New York Fashion Week from summer with her husband - and Blair's father - Harold, in Paris, when Lily made her grand entrance – with company like usual, only she hadn't been out for dinner with Eric, but rather two males neither Blair nor Serena had seen before. Specifically, a stern looking, 40-something man who had one arm awkwardly around the former Mrs. Van der Woodsen's waist, the other stiffly at his side, and a mischievous young boy around their age, with hazel eyes which gleamed of secrets and trouble, and thick, near-black brown hair. He wore an ostentatiously gold bowtie with his dapper pale-pink suit, and introduced himself as Charles Bass, though Chuck was much more preferred, and did it all with a sort of pompous air of superiority. The strained man who accompanied Lily was Bart Bass, father of Chuck Bass, CEO and Chairman of Bass Industries, and owner of the Palace Hotel, the very building the van der Woodsen family lived.

Apparently, Lily had been waiting for another date to arrive at the downstairs bar one night a few weeks ago, but she'd ended up talking to the admirable Mr. Bass about the wonderful decoration, and talking had turned to drinks, and drinks had turned into food, and food had turned into dessert, and dessert had turned into, well, something else. Only Chuck seemed to know what "something else" was, for he grinned like a Cheshire cat and mumbled delightedly about "babies", "careful", and "proper protection", all of which had confused the girls completely at the time but made perfect sense as something the heinous Basstard had once said when one was looking back at it all.

Regardless, a few months later, the summer before Grade 3, Lily van der Woodsen had become Lily Bass at a festively grand ceremony of white and petals and golden bands in the Hamptons, and Serena had returned back to the city with a new father and brother. The newly acquired brother attended St. Jude's now, and Serena's home became a busy one, and a happy little family of sorts, though Lily and Bart were away together most of the time, allowing the neglected but content children to run wild in a sort of carefree bliss full of limos and Franklin-faced bills and pretty little dresses and handsome stiff bowties.

Whenever Blair went over to the van der Bass home and Chuck was around, he'd always flash her a smirk and boast of a girl he'd kissed recently – and not just a silly peck either, he'd say as if sharing universe-altering news, but one that involved tongue and an older girl – and then he'd smarmily loop his arm around her waist and ask her if she wanted a go with him too. Blair, ever the society darling and good, prim girl, would delicately wrinkle her nose, and if nobody was watching, give him a much deserved kick on the shin. If someone was around, though, she'd merely verbally gut him through and through, but Chuck was quick to retort every time, and it became some sort of a game – a game of wits, perhaps, though both knew that even without the game and the mutual take-downs and schemes, they'd still spend time together, and that deep down they really were pretty good friends.

* * *

As for the rest of them, she met them later, when she and Serena were in Grade 4, firmly attached at the hip by now. They were still very much the same people as they'd been five years ago, only whereas Serena was still the It Girl, Blair no longer vied for the position, no longer seethed in green-eyed rage over the title of Golden Girl. No, Blair Waldorf knew her destiny now; she desired a different power, a different path, and it was to be Queen. And the best part about being Queen was that it was nearly effortless for her – she'd never be able to fully skip through life like Serena, but she'd well accepted and welcomed that fact by now – and she delighted in knowing that she had all of elementary Constance in the palm of her hand, and that a single word from her ruby lips meant excommunication or instant success, social suicide or gained power. But most importantly, she knew that what she said was law. She was worshipped, revered, feared, admired, whatever you name it, and she relished every second of it even at the age of ten.

Serena had been the first to hear of the arrival of Nathaniel Archibald to St. Jude's and Georgina Sparks to Constance Billard. Both girls knew those last names well enough from gossip at Sunday teas – Nate Archibald of the Vanderbilt family, son of Captain Howard Archibald and Anne Vanderbilt of the political powerhouse the Vanderbilt family, and Georgina Sparks, daughter of business mogul and technology giant Kevin Sparks and two-time actress Leticia Sparks – and though both had talked to the boy a few times at elegant dinner parties they were accustomed to, neither knew Georgina. As for Chuck…he and Nate had bonded exceptionally well the first day, so Serena and Blair saw much of the golden-haired and blue-eyed little UES prince around, and they got to know him better – and as for Georgina, the dark-copper-haired girl seemed to almost be like a combination of Blair and Serena – she was charming enough and sweet enough, but she was hellishly manipulative and commanding too. After some hackle raising and fang-bearing from both parties, the two brunettes managed to see past their minor disputes to discover that they were much more similar than they seemed, and begrudgingly, Blair admitted that Georgina wasn't that bad to have around, and Serena had clapped her hands in glee, since she and Georgina had become friends too in the past few days.

Carter entered their lives a year later. He was a less intense but more leering version of Chuck and a sleazier version of Nate, but both boys seemed to have welcomed him with open arms, and Georgina and Serena the same, so Blair was more or less forced to comply. Blair didn't have a fondness for Carter Baizen like Georgina, or find him as amusing as Serena did or as interesting and friend-worthy Chuck and Nate made him seem, but she had to admit he could be fun to have around for all he was worth. Plus, despite how much she hated him sometimes, she did hold him dear too.

And somehow, as time passed, the six of them grew closer and closer, finding a sort of comfort in each other and trust that they didn't find with any of their minions or admirers, making up for their lack of parental love by accepting each other unconditionally, and through all the clever cut downs and banter and snide comments, they began spending more and more time together - and then they didn't seem so different anymore, but all rather similar inside, though they still were impossibly unalike on the surface.

Yet another year later, when everyone had had his or her fair share of first kisses (except Blair, who had opted to stay some sort of an Yves-Saint-Laurent-wearing nun among the group), Carter and Georgina lost their virginities to each other on a drunken night of one too many poorly made martinis that their still low-tolerant bodies couldn't handle, and Georgie had giggled the day after and described it as a blur of stars and light and glitter and it had only hurt a teeny bit, to which Carter had said nothing – something extremely queer for his usual unctuous self – and when Chuck had joked that Carter had fallen in love with his best friend, Carter had uncharacteristically choked and excused himself from the conversation entirely.

In seventh grade, when everyone had forgotten about Carter's little thing for G and he'd started bedding sophomores and Georgie a junior once, Chuck decided that he was way behind, and took Georgie the day after Carter had boasted of his fortieth conquest.

The event seemed to have been much less grand and exciting as the times Georgie and Carter happened, but Carter's face had clouded up nonetheless when he caught wind of the debacle and the boy spat on Chuck's new Pradas in the courtyard and sneered at G, "Slut, that's all your worth. You think we even meant anything? The only reason I did you over and over again was to get in between those easy legs when I couldn't be bothered to even lift the pistol to shoot the fish in that shitty little barrel."

Georgina's face had transformed as a hurricane of emotions hurtled and flashed their way across her face - anger, rage, hurt, disbelief...it was the broken image of a girl too young still to be broken like this - and her perpetually pouting mouth gaped as her jaw slackened, but she didn't say a single word as she stormed away into the shelter of a cab.

The next day, Constance had issued a formal letter to Mr. and Mrs. Sparks on their deepest sadness regarding the mid-school-year departure of Miss Georgina Sparks to the established Institut Le Rosey, and sincerely hoped that Miss Sparks would perhaps entertain the thought of graduating from Constance Billard in the future.

With the sort of sixth sense possessed by a child's startling ability to perceive situations accurately, no one ever mentioned Georgina again in front of Carter's face after that day, and she slowly faded into the back of their memories, stored no doubt for further use when the day came that they would need it again - but for now, they lived on like the glamorous girls and boys born into the plush lap of luxury that they were, filling the hole that was Georgie Sparks with newer memories and clearer cherished moments, even more expensive shoes and finer spirits.

And this group of Upper East Side royalty, as the years went past, became even more sublime excellence; worshipped, utter perfection, indefeasible superhuman enigmas in their own ways, polar opposites – cold where one was hot, icy aloofness where another was warm familiarity, prim and proper while the others were the definition of sex, debauchees to no end – yet so similarly carved, so humanly faulty, angels and sinners alike, that there was a sort of romanticized vulnerability and complex, ugly darkness to them all that they all ignored and pretended didn't exist inside of them – because which girl who only wore Louboutins, which boy who only drank Dom for champagne, which child surrounded by tasteful opulence their whole life, was born without being fucked up after birth? The more perfect their smiles, the more astounding the trust fund, the more daddy and mommy issues, the more twisted their once naïve hearts became, and they became paradoxical contradictions – more vulnerable, yet less too, more easily wounded and affected, quicker to rile up, yet progressively more detached and indifferent to the constant criticism, less able to expose their hearts out from the layers of expensive silk and years of damage they deemed normal. Such was the life of the now five princes and princesses, future kings and queens of the East Coast kingdom of an island they called home.

* * *

A/N: So, do you want me to continue? Are you bashing your face against the keyboard yet from my ornately flowery language at times and occasional overwhelming love for commas? Or should I continue? ^_^

to each their own,

valentinosilkflowers


	2. Lolita

Author's note: 11 REVIEWS! Alskdjfkadsjf! This was beyond my wildest dreams, I swear. I thought I would get one, if that, and that it would be a huge flame. As you can probably see, I'm not the most positive person all the time. You guys are awesome though. I'm also going to try not to write such crazy long A/Ns, but we'll see about that, lol (as in, probably not going to happen). I'll be honest, when I first wrote this I had no idea where I was going with the story plot-wise, but I think I've gotten some direction since then ;)

To **sallysally, Fan, Lola, Stalked69, BiteMeBass, scyphozoa, iomlok, Krazy Once, Avivush, whathappenedtotruelove **and** Aliennut** - thank you so much for reviewing. You all get a special place in my heart for welcoming me into Fanfiction so warmly. And to **MegamiTenchi** too, who deserves a note of public acknowledgement for inspiring me to write in the first place. If you haven't read any of her work...it is phenomenal and a must read.

**Fan** - Appreciated and noted. However, since this is AU, I want to make Nate's character deeper than the perpetually stoned, hamster-brained yet endearing character that he is - this doesn't necessarily mean changing his character to OOC, but expanding so that he is 3D like the others for the most part, if that's what you were worried about. As for Serenate itself...we'll see where this story takes us, because for me this is a story heavily based on friendship - I know it's Romance/Drama but Friendship was something I was debating to list it as for a good few hours. I want to focus right now on the friendships and dynamics that make up the core of the show and of this story - Chuck and Nate, Serena and Blair, NJBC+Carter (because I just love him to pieces, so it's like a 5-person NJBC). There will be no easy way out, I promise you :)

**Lola** - "deeper than a kid's pool" - I found that part funnier than it should've been, I'm sure, and endearing too, so thank you for the encouragement. And _h__ola querida, _all the way from Columbia :)

**Stalked69, BiteMeBass, iomlok, Krazy Once, Avivush, sallysally, scyphozoa, whathappenedtotruelove** and **Aliennut** - once again...thank you for the support and inspiration, you guys are all superstars. I sent PMs to all of you with accounts, so thank you for that :)

A note of forewarning – the characters – especially Blair, are going to seem bipolar at times, and this fic is going to seem bipolar – overly dark one chapter, light another – and there are parts that will seem like contradictions maybe – but I want to clarify that this is because Blair in particular (but the others as well, definitely), are very much vulnerable, humanly people. No matter how much they pretend to be indifferent to their parents' criticism, their overall emotions are based on what Eleanor or Bart or whoever says to them, and since they are unstable people, their own moods fluctuate greatly and how they view themselves especially will seem to go against previously said things. That being said, they are _not _bipolar – extremely extroverted, yes. I addressed this in the Prologue, but wanted to clarify further again.

I realized that my problem with lack of plot was my nun-like prudishness. I swear, I'm the biggest hussy about Ed and Julian Morris and other celebrities on tumblr, but in real life, the amount of action in my life can be compiled into a total of two pages printed in size 42 font. Okay, not _that_ bad. But still. I'll die an old maid with all her cats, sipping tea and eating ice cream by the bucket-load. Anyway, my problem, therefore, is my unwillingness to write any sort of thing that can be inferred to sex. I swear, writing the Carter line in the Prologue - the "get between those easy legs" part – made me cringe inside and feel irrationally ashamed. Unfortunately, I'm also the biggest smut whore ever when it comes to fanfiction. I think it has something to do with Chair's dynamic as a couple, but still. Smut-filled stories with good plot are the best. With that in mind, I tried writing some somewhat-romantic scenes out the other day. What started as uncertainty and questioning towards the morality of writing anything hinting towards sexual endeavors soon blossomed in a short minute into full-on enthusiasm for Chair action.

Okay, that was totally too much information for you guys right there.

I'm going to hell for sure now that I've broken out of my shy writer's shell. I have no shame anymore.

You can all stone me for mind-adultery now, so long as you give me reviews. I'm an unabashed review and smut whore; I've figured out my existence in life now.

* * *

**Polaris**

**Chapter One:**

**Lolita**

_Two lips go down off a coast too far_

_Almost drowned, off a coast too far_

_Shaky shoreline leaves you near and far_

_But at the same time don't know where you are_

* * *

Fifteen now. Serena still the Aphrodite, Blair still the Hera. Only it wasn't just elementary Constance in her dainty palm now, but freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior too, no easy feat for even Blair Waldorf.

The leaves had changed several seasons in Central Park, currently a fiery mélange of colours, and the Prada on Fifth had redone its green twice since they had become a group of five, but only little things seemed to have changed and developed – but then again, in their world, the little things were always the most important.

The girls had long traded their colourful Lilly Pulitzer totes for tasteful Yves Saint Laurent Muses, their toothy grins for demure smiles, fresh-faced charm succeeded by skillfully applied perfection. The soft pitter-patter of Repetto flats was replaced by the rhythmic clicking of Manolos, Lanvin pinafores and Burberry knit dresses long forgotten behind rows of figure-skimming Versace and body-bandaging Herve Leger, lady-like Miu Miu and sophisticated Akris.

Cosmos and martinis went in the place of apple ciders, fake IDs where school photos were once tucked. Dear old Ben Franklin was joined by a sleek black AmEx, and Saturday nights reserved for a more grown-up sort of playtime.

* * *

As for the boys…they'd graduated from fresh orange juice and Dom on celebratory nights to scotch, gin tonics and beers, from carefully pressed Brooks Brothers to impeccable Armani and dapper Tom Ford.

Their favourite playthings were no longer Quattroporte Maserati models but women, and entertainment had moved on from Wii to burlesque. Dangling between their fingers milkshake straws did no more, replaced by cigarettes and joints and whatever else they felt like smoking, simply because they _could_.

Carter and Chuck were still all cheeky smirks and arrogant hubris, but it wasn't quite so safe and innocent anymore now that they knew their full effect on the female population, and now that they were proper teenagers.

Nate - or "Natie", as Serena had dubbed him with a bubbly giggle - was the tamest of the group - a player nonetheless, but at least he didn't have the one-time rule Chuck had, or the male chauvinist tendencies Carter harboured. He preferred serious monogamy, as he put it, though Blair was fairly certain that while monogamy meant keeping a girlfriend and not employing the use-and-discard-like-a-tissue strategy the two darker-haired boys preached, it did not mean keeping several girlfriends at once in a vigorous display at how into monogamy he was. She'd been half-tempted to drag Nate into the Vanderbilt library and compare and contrast 'monogamy' with 'polygamy' to prove her point to her clueless friend, but decided against it, considering he'd forget within a day or two (that useless but endearing hamster brain, constantly flitting from one thing to the next and forgetting what was no longer in his sight) and go back to calling himself a devoted monogamist.

* * *

"I'm pretty sure there's something wrong with me," Blair bemoaned, planting her head into her hands.

They were sprawled across from each other on Serena's bed, and Blair was indulging in a particularly delicious and catty article about the latest Viktor & Rolf show - which in Blair's most humble opinion, looked like a Martian had decided to spontaneously fuck the brains out of a teacup, leading to the birth of a bloody lovechild with bits of coke stuck to its mangled form. She respected and begrudgingly appreciated the art of boundary pushing for all it was worth, but there was a thin line between being fashionably crazy, and purely psychotic. And the bloody cocaine babies, Blair was adamantly sure, were asylum-level insanity.

Serena, long accustomed to the dramatic antics of the brunette by now, merely raised her brows for a brief moment, sparing a glance at her best friend before returning to her magazine.

Cleansing her mind of the disturbing thought that had just gone through her mind, Blair groaned, "Seriously, S. Look at me."

The blonde cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow once again, flipping her glossy shut and turning to face Blair. "Giving you my undivided attention, B," she sighed._  
_

Clearly unconvinced, the other girl fixed her with a pointed look, before deeming her attentive enough and continuing, "I don't get it. I really don't. Well, I mean, I do. Kind of. Not really. But still, kind of..." She broke off her nonsensical babbling to wail, "It's not fair, Serena! I mean, I get it; I'm a huge prude, which doesn't really help matters, but…still. Why am I so unwanted? I mean, to make matters worse, I'm with _you _most of the day, and when I'm not, I'm with the three most eligible and wanted guys in all of New York, so that doesn't help it either…but I mean, I haven't even had my first kiss before, Serena. Surely there must be at least one semi-attractive guy who finds me somewhat desirable…" She trailed off again, burying her face once more into the bed.

Serena made a half-choking sound, and Blair sneaked a peek up at her friend to see tears gathering in her eyes, body violently shaking in mirth, one hand on her stomach, the other clamped on her mouth in a failed attempt to stay silent. A glare immediately fixed itself on Blair's face, and she scowled, "Some sensitivity would be appreciated, if you understand what the word entails."

The accused sobered up immediately, and she draped an arm around the petite girl, murmuring softly, "I'm so sorry Blair, I didn't…that's not why I was laughing. You know I meant well. Look, I'm sure there's someone out there who would find you suitable. I hope you don't feel bad..."

But Blair had had enough of this sympathy from shiny-haired Serena, who had boys practically panting after her everywhere she went. She pitied her, Blair realized. And Blair Waldorf did not accept or appreciate pity. This conversation had been entirely pointless, she raged in her head, and she was so done here.

With a cool smile, Blair tossed, "I forgot, Serena – I have to go pick something up from Bergdorf's before they close today. I'm sure that whatever you said can wait for another time. You don't mind, do you?"

Of course, in typical Blair Waldorf fashion, it was more of a threat than a rhetorical question.

Grabbing her Birkin from the bed, she slipped her feet into her Jimmy Choo emerald peep-toes, and clicked her way to the elevator.

Only, the elevator was taking its sweet time and she could already hear Serena from the other room, asking her to wait up because she really, _really_ wanted to talk about what had just happened. Desperate to escape, Blair shoved whoever it was in the elevator back inside so the doors would close sooner. (She figured it was probably just another of Chuck's girls coming back either in an attempt to convince him to do her again or because she'd forgotten something _important_, like her cheap, ripped La Senza panties – euphemism, of course, for please fuck me again Chuckie – and that the likelihood of it actually being someone important in society was close to zero, so manners were not imperative at the moment.)

Jamming the button a few extra times for good measure, she leaned against the elevator's wall and closed her eyes, ignoring whoever it was that was sending slight shivers up her spine - no doubt because of the utter lack of class the other party was sending off in waves, she assured herself - but a warm hand grasped her arm and the voice smarmed, "My my, Waldorf. Seems like a certain someone's eager to give me a ride nice and early in the morning."

Not even bothering to open her eyes and exhaling a weary sigh, Blair ignored the innuendo-laced comment (what it really meant was "What happened to get you this desperate to leave?") and got to the point – "Serena didn't understand me. Again. Even though I shut my mouth and stay silent as I track her down every few Sunday mornings a month from some random man's house, married or not, and don't give her a single word of judgment. I had to get away from her. That's all."

"Seems like a lot to be saying 'that's all' to," Chuck commented dryly, before adding, "We're going out tonight – Carter, Nate, and I, obviously – so if you want to come, the limo's going to be at your door at seven. And Sis is coming too. Because," he rolled his eyes, "Carter and Nate seem to have a thing for real-life Barbies."

Stepping out of the elevator, Blair pursed her lips in contemplation, before calling over her shoulder with a coy smile dangling on her lips, "Did you say seven? I suppose I could make time for it, if you really wanted me there."

* * *

The ding of the doorbell announced the presence of someone entering the Waldorf residence. Since none of her minions ever showed up without warning her in advance, and the clicking steps that could be heard echoing on the marble were slow and steady ones, not Serena's erratic, quick-paced clacks (not to mention that if it were Serena, she would've shrieked something at the top of her lungs to notify Blair of her arrival), Blair was almost a hundred percent sure Eleanor was back from Paris for a quick check-up on her only daughter, and a meeting in town with an important investor or two with her assistant Laurel.

Checking her reflection in the mirror, Blair made sure her face looked full of energy and devoid of any hint of an ashen complexion, and that her current outfit - hunter-green, draped Lanvin dress with cap-toed pumps - wasn't displaying any of those horrendous lumps that Eleanor always was able to pick out with her keen eye.

Deeming herself presentable, she made her way down the stairs with a ramrod stiff back, ever the charming society girl, calling out with a smile pasted on, "Mother! So lovely to have you back in New York."

Eleanor, though, wasn't in a mood for pleasant talk today, and immediately began silently appraising her daughter, concluding, "You've let yourself loose these past few months, have you now Blair? I'll have to make sure Dorota doesn't allow any more macarons while I'm gone, since you clearly are not able to take care of yourself yet, though you're to be sixteen in a week. And what have you dressed yourself in? All the draping really doesn't flatter your body."

With those few, harsh words, lacking in parental praise and full of cutting remarks, Eleanor Waldorf swept back towards the elevator, turning around to inform Blair with the air of a distant colleague, "I'm off to an important meeting with Grace Coddington, and then headed back for Paris with Laurel, but it was lovely talking to you again. I'll be back around summer, probably, with your father - but do try to keep a better eye on your weight and diet while I'm gone, will you? At least, as best as you can."

And then she was off, leaving Blair too miserable to even muster a polite "Goodbye, Mother."

* * *

Silent tears streamed down her face, and she hated herself - hated herself for crying, hated herself for being weak enough to cry, hated herself for letting Eleanor affect her, hated herself for caring, and hated herself for giving in to the water-swallowing, porcelain Charybdis that was her safety, her bad habit that she went back to again and again in a masochistic way, which eagerly swirled her unwanted remnants of food down its ceramic mouth.

She felt ugly, dirty and unshapely, and still never good enough, never pretty enough, and never thin enough, no matter how little she ate or how hard she tried or how much makeup she hid herself under.

She hated Eleanor, and she hated society for being too damn polite to say she was pitifully flawed to her face. In some ways, she guessed, she was actually thankful that her mother told her these things that no one else had the nerve to, because at least she could resort to bathroom expeditions and calorie-burning workouts to salvage as much as she could of her image before her body got completely out of hand. Blair was sure that while the people tossed empty compliments her way while she was in their presences, the moment she left the room, everyone whispered about "the poor little Waldorf girl", who couldn't ever be anything close to her best friend, beautiful, naturally gorgeous Serena.

Serena, who looked good with the denim patchwork Louis Vuitton bag slung carelessly on her arm, possibly the most hideous piece of luxury ever created. Serena, who looked good in a hot pink, shoulder-padded-to-the-extreme Escada dress CeCe once wore in her heyday. Serena, who looked flawless nursing a mother of a hangover with smudged makeup still on from the night before. Serena, who when soaked through and through with rain, resembled an Eres model mid-photoshoot, and never anything close to the drowned rat Blair uncannily paralleled when in the same situation.

And even worse, Serena was _nice. _She was the kindest, most loyal, down-to-earth, positive girl ever, and she actually _meant_ every compliment she gave.

Unlike Blair. Blair, who spent an hour curling her hair so it looked perfect. Blair, who was impatient and demanding even in the most complimentary light. Blair, who always seemed to have a penchant for the dark side. Blair, who was a scheming, catty bitch, an ice queen, a frigid prude, and sarcastic demon to top it all off.

Sometimes, she was pretty sure that the only person who probably truly appreciated and accepted her Machiavellian, evil ways was Chuck. Not that Chuck counted, since he was an even worse specimen of humankind than she was, breaking half of New York's hearts and giving heart attacks to the remaining half, what with his blackmailing and threatening.

Taking a shaky breath, Blair raised herself from the cold tiles of the floor, wiped her eyes furiously, and flushed the evidence down. Walking over to the sink, she studiously avoided the mirror until she'd rinsed the acidic taste out of her mouth, scrubbed her face clean, and soaped her self-loathing away.

Fortified once again, she finally raised her head and met her reflection in the glass. Her eyes were a bit pink and puffy, she noted, and it was a bit dark underneath too. Her complexion was a little blotchy, but all of this was nothing a few swipes of her Touche Éclat and foundation couldn't fix.

After carefully reapplying her makeup and touching up her curls with some product, she felt revived and in command of her life once again.

She had twenty minutes left still, she registered, just enough time to slip on her new red and pink Charlotte Olympia platform pumps and the silky black Dior number before the van der Bass limo arrived. (She'd been planning on wearing her figure-hugging Valentino with the ruffles at the scoop-neck, but clearly all it would do was highlight her flaws, and that was not something was going to let happen.)

Slipping her feet into the pumps, she grabbed the bare necessities, throwing it all into her PS1 and haphazardly wrapping a trench around her body before rushing down to make it to the lobby precisely at seven.

* * *

Tonight, she decided as she slid into the limo and greeted the other four, she was going to get _smashed_. Serena-smashed, to be exact. Screw being careful, screw control - she was running wild tonight and if anyone thought she was being crazy, so be it. Maybe she _was _going a little crazy. But if Serena drowned her sorrows in her tequila shots and nameless men, if Chuck drowned his in scotch and whores, and Carter in gin tonics and callgirls, if Nate drank his worries away in Heineken and got so stoned he thought the word "puppy" was hilarious...Blair Waldorf could do the same with her martinis. She was going to let loose, and she was going to kiss someone tonight, dammit. She was going to make sure it happened. Never mind saving her first kiss for Prince Charming - she was behind, she realized, and Blair Waldorf was never, ever behind.

The champagne bottle currently being held against her face brought her back to present time. Carter, already grinning ear to ear like a maniac from whatever foul thing he and Nate were passing back and forth, was gripping a bottle of '82 Dom, swinging it an inch away from Blair's nose as a silent offer. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed the thing from his hand and gulped from it like a fish, welcoming the fizzles tickling down her throat. Carter smirked for a brief moment, half-amused at the un-Blair-like action, but he raised his brows in a cautionary way and his eyes were questioning - too much like Serena, in Blair's opinion, who, she reminded herself, she was still moderately pissed at from earlier.

Plus, she didn't think his rare little show of halfhearted brotherly concern warranted a sort of response, so she clutched her poison of choice and turned towards Chuck and his stepsister, who were currently having a heated argument about whether or not Chuck was allowed to light up in Serena's bathroom.

The blonde finally noticed Blair's presence, and gave her a timid smile, uncertain of where they stood. Blair though, notoriously lightweight, already had long forgotten the slight falling-out, and feeling slightly lightheaded already, she plopped down beside her best friend and enveloped her best friend in an affectionate hug, watching their city blur behind them, uptown changing into midtown, midtown into trendy TriBeCa.

Arriving at their destination, the group exited the limo, entering the Canal Room. It was a bit too trendy for Blair's taste, but she soon got lost in the rhythm of the music, and Serena and Chuck on either side of her in an odd sibling sandwich, not that she was objecting, especially since she'd already downed another three martinis upon coming in, much to another disapproving look from Carter. He was seriously getting too close to being a caretaker, she frowned.

Then Serena shouted something about going to find Nate because the chances of him getting roofied were pretty high, and it left just Chuck and Blair together, and since her head was getting a little too woozy for her, she leaned against his chest, feeling him smirk into the top of her head, hands holding her hips while people jostled them with their dancing. Since the constant contact of flying limbs was becoming rather annoying, he maneuvered her out of the crowd, finding an empty little storage room of sorts that had some marginal semblance of breathing space in it for the two of them.

Leaning against the velvet-lined wall, Blair chanced a glance at her friend and partner-in-crime. He looked dangerous and handsome in his suit, and he was looking back at her with a sort of intensity that she'd never quite noticed before. Intoxicated and emboldened by the alcohol, Blair breathed, "Show me what you think of me," her guard down and inhibitions forgotten in the brief moment, lost in the whirring of lights and dull thudding of the beat, the crimson velvet of the small space and the proximity of Chuck's body, nearly pressed against hers.

His hand slid up the soft material of the wall, trapping her and engulfing her in the expensive scent that was Chuck Bass. She could hear her heart booming in time to the music, the martinis making her body liquid and pliant. Those Charlotte Olympias weren't doing much for her balance either, her brain registered faintly, but at least she wasn't an entire head shorter than Chuck at the moment.

Amber eyes met her own chocolate orbs, fire burning bright in them, but hesitation evident too – hesitation, she realized with a scoff, because she was entirely undesirable. Hesitation because he _pitied _her. He probably was steeling himself for the repulsion that was kissing Blair Waldorf. In fact, she was pretty sure that Serena had set this up. She'd probably gone to her stepbrother, begging him to give Blair a sense of pseudo-desirability, figuring that since it was Chuck, he wouldn't mind the task, and that it would make her best friend feel a bit better about herself and give her a confidence she wasn't actually entitled to.

She pushed his chest to get out of the little rectangle of space, desperate to run away and disappear into the throng of anonymous dancers, away from the tiny room that had suddenly become constricted and hard to breathe in, needing to leave before he saw her pooling tears. Because Blair Waldorf never cried. Blair Waldorf didn't do weakness, and to cry was to be weak. Blair Waldorf was strong, cold, and ice, incapable of tears and incapable of being broken, impossible to hurt or crack apart. (Not that Eleanor hadn't already done all of that to her daughter already - Blair would just never admit it to herself, that was all; denial was, after all, a very prominent streak in the family).

But just as she leaned forward in an attempt to push him back and put some distance between the two of them, Chuck tilted his head to the side a bit, hands on her arms, bending down slightly to whisper in her ear, "You're the mo- you're one of the most beautiful girls in the grade, Blair, if not ever."

Turning his face slightly, she saw him stare at her lips for a slight pause, and her heart started doing that weird hammering thing it had been doing all of tonight when she thought he was going to kiss her on the mouth, but he pressed a chaste kiss on her cheek instead and moved back from the wall, taking his heat away with him as he silently left the room.

The air seemed to have finally swept back into the room again after he left, and she gulped at it in an attempt to clear her foggy brain.

Martinis and being with Chuck alone in a cramped room, she decided, were two things she'd never mix together again.

She was sure that he'd wanted to say something else before changing his statement to "one of the most beautiful", but she wasn't sure that she had the guts to ask him, or that she was ready to hear him say whatever it was he was about to say before, so she fussed and analyzed his words over and over in her head until she'd gone over them so times that she'd forgotten the exact wording and the only thing sticking in her mind was that he hadn't even been able to leave out the rest and tell her she was simply beautiful. He'd had to include the "one of" part, which made her doubt the credibility of his statement entirely. "Beautiful" was far from what she was feeling right now, but something clawed in her, a sudden kick of boldness she didn't even know she had. She felt compelled to prove Chuck wrong, to prove Eleanor and Serena and Carter all wrong, to prove that someone could want her.

Remembering the angry promise she'd made herself at the beginning of the night in the limo, Blair squared her shoulders, took a shaky breath, and headed straight for the bar, suppressing any remaining strand of common sense and prudishness down with her martini, figuring this was why they called it liquid strength in books.

Devoid of any semblance of rational thought, she spotted a well-dressed, handsomely dark-haired man halfway across the crowded floor, and deemed him suitable enough for her mission. Steadying herself against the counter for a few moments, she located some of her balance, pushing away any thoughts that Sober Blair would be mortified at her current actions and that she might regret this come morning.

She started towards him, making sure that she wasn't wobbling her way over – because even a smashed Blair wasn't going to fall facedown on the floor or portray complete drunkenness, or start giving investment bankers blowjobs in the men's bathroom stalls for that matter – not pausing once to listen to her brain's feeble protests that this wasn't what she really wanted.

One foot, then the other. Repeat. Repeat again, repeat, and repeat again, until she was face to face with target destination. Without pausing to look at his face, Blair closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed her mouth against his. She felt a palpable crack of something when they touched, and she was certain that he'd experienced it too. She had no clue what she was doing, and she was pretty sure he knew that too, but she was too far gone with inebriation to care. Pushing her lips against his repeatedly, she felt him hesitate for a moment, leaning back a bit (presumably to look into her eyes, but at this point she didn't know the name of the club anymore, let alone what he was doing when her eyes were closed) before closing the distance once again and putting his hands on her waist, gripping her tightly to his warm body. He tasted a bit like the Scotch Chuck drank, and his mouth was a magical thing, coaxing her own to open wider, deepening the kiss as he tilted her head to the side for better access. She looped her arms around his neck, occasionally pulling on the hair at his nape. When they finally surfaced for air, though, she recoiled at the horror that she'd just thrown herself into the arms of a complete stranger like a wanton stripper, and that this was probably going to end up on Gossip Girl sometime soon if it hadn't already, so she pried herself out of the comfortable, warm heat of the stranger, and beelined for the booth Carter and the others were currently in.

* * *

The rest of the night passed by in a splendid blur, though she recalled Serena engaged in a particularly steamy game of tonsil hockey on a bar stool with the bartender, and Nate propped up against a wall, being frisked by an extremely aggressive cougar while Carter howled, "Go in for the kill and tap that ass, pretty boy!"

She couldn't help but feel a little sad for Nate – people passed him off for a pretty boy whose mind didn't delve beyond the strategies of lacrosse – but the truth was, he was every bit as complicated as the rest of them, what with the Vanderbilt's heavy insistence that he enter a political career, and the Captain's ongoing drug problems that Nate barely was able to keep secret from Anne. She knew him, and she understood that he simply liked to gloss over those difficult things, to pretend they didn't exist, and that his life was merely about when he could light up again and if his team could win the next competition, when truthfully, it was about all of that and keeping up with the label society gave him as well.

By the time she'd made it to a home – the van der Bass' or Carter's apartment, she wasn't sure, but she knew that she'd landed on something somewhat flat and that someone with long blonde hair – so Serena, then – had helped her out of her dress and left her in her slip. Since it was usually her babying over Serena from a wild night out, the irony wasn't lost on her, either.

The last coherent thought was that thank _God_ Eleanor was back in Paris already, or she'd have a fit not knowing where her daughter was not being home that night...and where the hell had Chuck gone for the rest of the night? She hadn't seen him since right before she kissed that guy. Which had been, she had to say, a damn good first kiss. Even if it was a stranger whose face she didn't know at all…but then the martinis finally caught up with her and sleep enveloped her like a velvety blanket, and she welcomed it with tired arms and succumbed to a deep, alcohol-fueled sleep.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so I've long exceeded my monthly quota for A/Ns. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I can't help it – think of it as the longer my Author's Note is, the longer I'll increase the actual story by?

The entire last half of this thing was hell for me to write. I don't think I realized the amount of difference in effort reading anything vaguely romantic is from writing it. Have any of you guys felt that before? It's probably just me. And my nun tendencies.

You know reviews make me happy. And happy reviews make longer Author's Notes. And longer A/Ns mean longer chapters.

What? That's a threat? Of course it's not a threat ;*

So, the stranger is returning next chapter! Smashed Blair is smashed. I also do apologize for the outburst on V&R. I do adore Viktor & Rolf. I just had a momentary relapse of insanity and included it and didn't have the decency to delete it. I know, I'm infuriating and crazy, am I not? It was done out of some...errrrm...reminiscing about that last fall collection (pretty sure it was last fall - scyphozoa or any other fashion freaks, correct me if I'm wrong) where the girls all came out with red-painted faces. I actually liked that season a lot. I liked the makeup greatly. In an artistic way.

I also apologize for my unabashed, shameless love for fashion and for my limited creativity in having to use the somewhat overrated Birkin, which I only find marginally tolerable. I also wish I could reign back the floweriness, buuuuuuuuuut...

Exams start in two weeks so not sure how often I'll review then, but if I don't put it up in time I'll try to make it extra special heeeeee

To each their own,

-valentinosilkflowers


	3. And We're All Changing

Author's Note: OMG LOOK! LOOK WHO'S UPDATED!

Hi! Have you all missed me? I've missed you. You guys are lovely, with your lovely reviews ^_^ they always make my day.

I should clarify before someone anon-rants me – I ask for reviews not because I am looking for a number to reach, but because I want to know what you guys think, and if what I'm doing is reasonable and not too fast or unrealistic...I like knowing what runs in your heads while you read...does that sound creepy? Do I want to know the answer? Moving on though...

Don't get your hopes up. This is kind of a transition chapter to get me back in the groove.

Oh! But! Scyphozoa and I saw Leighton Meester with Check in the Dark on May 30th! ALFKJOIEJFLAJDLFKJ! IT WAS SO AMAZING YOU HAVE NO IDEA I SCREAMED AND DIED SO MANY TIMES IN THE SHOW I CAN'T BELIEVE I SAW MY QUEEN MY GORGEOUS QUEEN SHE WAS SO FLAWLESS AND ENDEARING AND CUTE AND AWKWARD AND TALENTED AND WELL-DRESSED OMG. She smiled at me twice. I'm not being delusional! She actually did. I know this for a fact.

Also, they played We Are Young three times during the breaks and before the concert started. NO ONE ELSE KNEW THE IMPORTANCE OF THE SONG. I was all like, this is total blasphemy. I was the most hardcore Leighton/Blair fan there. I knew the lyrics to some of her songs because of Youtube fangirl sessions of her playing at other places. All these other people were like "I'm such a GG fan!" or trying to be cool and all like "I don't even know the girl's name. What's the band name? Ew. The band plays so bad. Blair Waldorf!" The guy behind us who was part of the "Who is Blair in real life" group was mocking CITD and howling while they sang…the girls with him were awful too. Ugh. So annoying. They didn't know Leighton's name, and thought that she was Blair Waldorf in real life too. Ummm hello, it's a role. Even I know that, and I'm a diehard GG fan. Whatever though, Scyphie and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Best 25 dollars spent. She was so amazing and cute and I just can't omg omg omg omg.

Reviewers: Thank you, for both the feedback and the encouragement and all the flailing about for an answer to whom the stranger is. You'll have to find out… ;) I'll also try to personal PM you all in response to your reviews soon…"soon".

Oh, and since I'm so paranoid about this story being taken down because of lyrics or whatever…I don't own anything. Not GG, not Blair or Chuck or NJBC, not the songs I use, not anything here except my imagination.

And OMG SO MAD DID YOU KNOW THEY'RE CHANGING YVES SAINT LAURENT TO SAINT LAURENT PARIS LIKE HOW CAN YOU DO THAT YVES WOULD BE ROLLING IN HIS GRAVE IF HE WASN'T SPREAD ACROSS THE SEA IN ASHES LIKE SERIOUSLY ARE YOU SERIOUS YOU IDIOTS THIS IS YSL WE ARE TALKING ABOUT AND YOU WANT TO CHANGE THIS TO SLP LIKE ARE YOU TRYING TO BE STUPID THIS IS THE WORST MARKETING EVER UGH. THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO WON'T MIND ARE IDIOTS WHO DON'T UNDERSTAND FASHION. *Oh dear, I feel like I've offended someone. I'm just being passionate...*

* * *

**Polaris**

**Chapter Two:**

**And We're All Changing**

_The same I always was_

_And all these things that you say_

_Like I forget about_

_The mind numbing games that you play_

* * *

Blair woke up to a spiraling ceiling.

_What the hell?_

Dorota was going to be fired soon if this was some sort of joke they played back in her European homeland.

_And...did something just make a noise underneath her?_

Her back was against something hard and sleek and polished, that much she knew.

Where _was_ she?

Actually, judging from the modern décor and sparse furniture, she was pretty sure she was at Carter's.

Since whatever she was on was digging into her bare shoulders, Blair managed to haul herself somewhat upright, and scooted upwards to realize that she had fallen asleep slumped on top of a red piano, her legs on the keys.

_Definitely at Carter's._

In fact, Mrs. Baizen was particularly fond of this Fazioli, Blair recalled.

She closed her eyes to adjust to the throbbing sensation in her head before surveying the situation before her.

The first person she recognized was Serena. The blonde lay splayed across the coffee table, legs dangling off the side, golden hair wild and messy and the morning sunlight glinting off of it.

Her equally blue-eyed counterpart was planted on the sofa, face smothered against the expensive Italian leather and bare feet entwining with the sleeping girl's.

The only giveaway that the actual occupant of the penthouse had ended back here too was his navy blazer from the night before, crumpled in a careless ball on the floor as if it were Abercrombie and not Armani.

Chuck, it seemed, was still AWOL, though Blair wasn't sure she really wanted to know what he'd been up to in the period of time between the club and now.

Wanting to wash the acidic taste from her mouth, Blair heaved herself onto her feet, only to frown in dismay. She was clad in only her flimsy silk slip, much too scanty for her liking. Her dress was nowhere to be seen though, so she relented and figured a short trip without proper clothes on wasn't going to kill her and ruin her reputation.

Taking a quick peep into her compact mirror, she was surprised to see that her makeup was still in place, and she twisted her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck – Blair Waldorf was presentable and impeccable at all times – before deeming herself somewhat tidy enough and stumbling her way to the kitchen.

Hungover from drinking practically the equivalent of her body weight the night before, Blair was so preoccupied with getting into the kitchen without blacking out that she didn't hear voices coming from a few feet away until she was about to round the corner.

"Look," a male voice said exasperatedly, "I don't know why you so adamantly insist on this, but I'll do it for you, okay? I just really don't see a point. You came here at nine in the morning just to do…this?"

A second voice, deeper than the first, responded tightly, "Just keep your mouth shut. Don't bring it up, especially not around her. I'm sure she would be a bit…" The voice paused here, searching for the befitting word, before continuing, "_peeved_ to find out my identity."

"She's going to find out sooner or later, Bass."

"Carter," Chuck's silky voice berated, "she might not even remember, and even if she does, she probably doesn't know it was me. You were the only one who saw, so she has no one to find out from. Except you."

"What a shame," Carter snorted, "unable to recall a night with the great Chuck Bass?"

"The point," the other boy drawled, avoiding the insulting question, "is that you keep silent about it all. Don't mention it, and even if she does, don't say anything she doesn't know. I know it's all a Herculean effort for you since you keep your mouth closed as often as your pants are closed, but hopefully some god will perform a miracle on you and give you some discretion."

_Probably another trust-fund-baby socialite scared of being on daddy's radar for doing a teenage playboy_, Blair thought, amused at how worked up Chuck was getting himself over the girl they were talking about.

Seeing as she hadn't intruded on a private conversation much different from the usual morning after ones, Blair made her way into the kitchen and headed for the sink, bypassing a haggard-looking Carter who was contrasted starkly by the neatly dressed and shaven Chuck.

She could've sworn the tension had just gone up, albeit imperceptibly, once she'd entered. Though…on second thought, it was probably her hazy mind playing tricks on her, desperately in need of some coffee to sharpen up.

Carter clearly favoured a different method for dealing with the repercussions of heavy drinking. He was currently pouring vodka into his orange juice, dark aviators over his eyes paired with an even darker expression on his face.

"Really, Carter?" Blair commented, raising her brows in amusement.

In response, he simply scowled and huffed in annoyance, pouring even more alcohol into his glass.

"Well," Chuck drawled, "what else did you expect from a borderline alcoholic like Baizen?"

"Isn't there a better way to deal with a headache than adding more fuel to the fire?" Blair tossed back, vehemently death-staring Carter's vodka bottle.

"Probably," Chuck shrugged indifferently, before giving her a not-so-subtle once-over (the fire that had just shot through her spine had nothing to do with it) and he added lecherously, "Nice dress you've got there, Waldorf. Wear something like that more often for me, will you?"

Unfortunately, the sudden beep of their phones interrupted before she could open her mouth to insult him.

Opening the message on Carter's phone, she was unsurprised to see that it was a Gossip Girl blast.

* * *

_My my, what do we have ourselves here?_

_None other than our Princess of Purity getting hot and heavy with a mystery man in the Canal Room yesterday night, consequences and labels be damned._

_Is it just my wishful thinking, or has this Ice Queen thawed her frost a bit to come out and play a different sort of game?_

_A lady never kisses and tells, of course, but for a girl who swears by Audrey, wouldn't you say you're more crass than class now, B?_

_You know you love me._

_XOXO,_

_Gossip Girl_

* * *

Blair stared at the screen in mild disbelief. So she got drunk one night of her life and made out with a faceless guy in not the most covert place once, and that warranted practically being a harlot?

Goddamned martinis. She was never having a martini again. Or better yet, she was never touching any sort of alcohol ever again.

"Lucky man," Carter snorted, clearly amused, to which Blair sniffed disdainfully.

"I don't even really remember everything," she wailed, "I mean, I could've asked for a name or something, at least! Now when I'm old and eighty and jacked on Botox, I won't even be able to give a detailed account of my precious first kiss when I was young and beautiful and in my prime!"

A low chuckle emitted from her left. Chuck was studying her, and she knew he was analyzing her and questioning her all at once. What it was that he was trying to figure out, though, she had no clue. She cocked her head to the side, an unspoken inquiry.

"You just called yourself beautiful," Chuck smirked, though it seemed dangerously close to a genuine smile, "so, Miss Waldorf, I have to ask - do you believe you're beautiful?"

Blair backtracked; she was flustered for an answer, almost certain either he or Carter was going to cut her down, but then she remembered. It was a faint memory, not very clear since the alcohol had blurred up the edges, but she dimly remembered red velvet and suffocation and a warm voice whispering _beautiful_, though it was all slightly hindered by a weird feeling of inferiority for some reason she couldn't recall. Since Carter hadn't been there when the whole exchange happened and there was no way Chuck would've exposed himself like that to the other boy, it seemed like a safe topic to pursue and secretly tease him about.

Mirroring Chuck, Blair smirked back, "If the events of last night were of any indication, I'd say that I do have association with that adjective, yes."

Chuck was momentarily rendered speechless. "You remember?" He asked her, incredulous.

A roll of the eyes ensued. "Newsflash, Bassy, I may have been reall – _reasonably _drunk, but that doesn't mean I don't remember anything and have Alzheimer's too. Don't tell me you forget our little moment in the club?"

Carter's own blue eyes had acquired a sharp gleam at her last few words, though for what reason Blair didn't know. She wasn't sure she liked it, though. Either he was seriously misunderstanding this situation and taking it wrong or he'd somehow found out about her little conversation with Chuck in the miniscule room.

"Can one of you call for room service?" Blair half-questioned, half-demanded, wanting a subject change. "We could all use some caffeine and food in our system right now."

"What is this, your own home?" Carter grumbled, mood foul.

Blair shot him a deceptively sweet smile. "No, this is the Carlyle," she retorted back, "which means room service whenever I want."

* * *

Breakfast came in typical flamboyant Carlyle fashion, not that it was anything special for any of the five.

Nate and Serena piled heaps of pancakes onto their plates, giggling and excessively dripping syrup like preschoolers, unaware of the tension in the room. Carter brooded, swigging his screwdriver and occasionally glaring at Chuck, who simply slouched in his seat, lazily holding eye contact with him in some sort of a wordless challenge.

Serena was the first to break the silence.

"So, Blair Bear," she asked with a suggestive wiggle of her brows, "how was your long-awaited awakening last night?"

Blair rolled her eyes. Leave it up to her best friend to make everything into a scene from a badly developed soap opera. "It was quaint and enlightening, S," she quipped back sarcastically, "two things you'll never be."

The blonde didn't even bother acknowledging the insult, instead provoking in a singsong voice, "Now that our dear queen has broken this dam, how long will it be until her other dam is broken? You know you love me. XOXO, Gos-"

"Serena Celia van der Woodsen!" Blair admonished, dramatic gasp on her face, "That is not something a young lady such as you should be saying in the presence of gentlemen!"

"Now now, B, I wouldn't exactly go to the extent of labeling us fine young men _gentlemen_, though if that's euphemism for calling us irresistible, I would most definitely agree," Chuck smarmed, ever the charmer and smooth talker.

Blair sent a doe-eyed smile of innocence in the Basstard's direction before quipping, "You're right, Bass. You three aren't even close to being gentlemen – you're hormonal teenage boys."

"Touché," Chuck acknowledged, "though you do wound me so." He laid a hand over his heart in mock pain.

"Okay, you two," Serena called out, "stop flirting. Tell us, B! What was the mystery man like?"

Blair's cheeks reddened at the tactless question, and she was just about to refuse when she remembered exactly how snarky Chuck became whenever she talked about other guys in front of him, and she figured this could be pretty fun.

"Well, Serena," she began, "he was dark haired and very dapper, and he had on the most amazing suit ever. It was navy, I think, and there were gold things…buttons? He had gold buttons on his suit. It was nice."

Blair snuck a sideways glance at Chuck, trying to gauge his reaction, but his eyes were devoid of fire, and…was there a hint of amusement in those amber eyes? Usually he got pretty riled up about these things, and yet, here he was, calm and cool, not at all affected.

She decided it was time to bring out the big guns.

"You know, it's funny, Bassy. He tasted exactly like the Scotch you drink."

"Good for him," he tossed back, "you can always tell a man from what he drinks. He seemed like a fine person, Waldorf."

"Okay, you two," Carter now cut in, "would you just _stop_, God damn it! I mean, it was one thing when you were doing it in front of just me, but what are you now, lovesick exhibitionists? I mean, okay, Blair being kissed was as big as the Titanic sinking, but seriously? Christ, do you have to do this in front of every single person you see today? I mean, what's next, are you actually going to kiss her again, Bass, to stake your claim or something?"

Interrupting him, Chuck said, "She doesn't-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Blair interjected mid-sentence, seriously lost. Did Carter honestly think she and Chuck were having a secret relationship now, just because she'd made fun of him for calling her beautiful the night before?

Carter scowled. "Oh, Waldorf, don't play dumb. The look doesn't suit you."

"Jesus Christ, Carter, could you just _shut the fuck up_?" Chuck hissed vehemently, sending a pointed look towards the brunette.

"Oh my god," Blair realized with an unbelieving laugh, "you think I kissed Chuck. You're being crazy. I saw Chuck. I saw him nearby, right before I went for the other guy!"

"There was a mirror across from you, Waldorf, so that's why you thought you saw him nearby when he was actually right beside you," Carter said with an unaffected roll of his blue eyes, "Jesus, were you trashed."

A moment of absolute silence followed, shock written on everyone's face except Chuck's. Instead, the dark-haired boy was visibly fuming, seemingly ready to pummel a certain friend unconscious.

Blair was unable to comprehend any of this.

_She'd kissed Chuck?_

_She'd kissed…Chuck. Of all the people in the world…she'd kissed Chuck._

_So she was the girl the two were talking about this morning?_

_She'd kissed Chuck. Her best friend. Her confidante. Her partner-in-schemes. She'd kissed Chuck Bass._

_Chuck Bass._

_Last night. In the club. She'd kissed her friend. She'd kissed Chuck. She'd kissed Chuck Bass._

Blair was inept at grasping the situation at hand. _She'd_…

"Oh _god _she kissed my _stepbrother?_" Serena shrieked, voicing Blair's thoughts and planting her head in Nate's shoulder while he followed the turn of events with wide eyes, attempting to absorb the information at hand and failing magnificently.

"Charles," Blair ordered, a deceptive smile pasted on her face as she got up from the table, "sidebar. _Now._"

* * *

"You knew all along," Blair screamed, brandishing a picture frame in her hand, "and you thought it would be fun to watch me flail about trying to find out whom it was I kissed? I mean, I have nothing better to do with my life either, so I just decide to take advantage of my friend and steal her first kiss from her when she's drunk off her ass!"

"So now you're claiming I took advantage of you, Blair? I may pride myself on being a heartless playboy and think little of a woman's mind but that doesn't mean I force myself onto girls when they're not completely conscious of themselves." Chuck snapped back furiously.

Basstard. He was in for it; there was no way she was going to hold herself back now. "Oh really, now? So what about that face-down-drunk freshman at Kati's birthday party a few weeks ago? Or the two twins you took up to your suite, hysterical and crying because they were about to finally serve the great Chuck Bass in bed?"

"How do you even remember all this?" Chuck asked incredulously, "Even I don't."

Blair, for the life of her, didn't know the answer. Sure, she had a sharp memory, but come to think of it…how exactly did she remember Chuck Bass' debauchery in such vivid detail? It must be her absolute disgust and contempt for such behaviour, she concluded, thus scarring her mind and branding those moments there permanently.

There was an excruciatingly long pause before Chuck broke it, conceding, "They weren't falling-down-drunk, Waldorf. I don't take numbed out, virtually unconscious and hysterically sobbing girls to bed, Christ. What do you take me for? I may as well go fuck a dead animal if I did that."

Another silence. Blair was currently experiencing a fascinating phenomenon with her mouth, which had apparently become paralyzed, ceasing to function.

"Anyway, the point is I didn't force you to do anything. In fact," Chuck continued, "if I remember clearly, and I'm pretty sure I'm the reliable source here right now, _you_ were the one grabbing me, pulling me to you, planting your mouth-"

"Oh my god_, Chuck_, enough!" Blair hissed furiously, cheeks reddening violently. At least her mouth seemed to have finally started working again. "I don't need you to remind me of every disturbing detail of what went down last night!"

_(Tell me it wasn't a mistake. Tell me you lived for it. Tell me it left you electrified too. Tell me I was different. Tell me I was better than the others.)_

"So you really are using that story," Chuck bit back, "and what – telling everyone it was a huge mistake? What a burden it must be, having to endure me as your first."

"You know what?" She seethed in rage, "Just forget this. Forget last night and this…_whatever_ right now ever happened, okay? Nothing ever happened."

_(Tell me it was worth it. Tell me I was worth it.)_

"Well," Chuck concluded with a sneer, "it wasn't like it was that much of an interesting experience for me, either. I guess my expectations were a bit too high though, wouldn't you agree? Not to worry though, Waldorf, just lay off the alcohol next time, alright?"

And with an air eerily similar to Bart, he turned and stalked out of the room.

Well, Blair concluded bitterly, at least she'd finally confirmed her suspicions from the night before. Clearly he had done her a favour, and the least she could do was collect the remaining shreds of dignity she had left and never jump him again.

* * *

It was late afternoon now, and breakfast had long been sent away. They were all showered and dressed now, and Blair had so far successfully avoided Chuck since their little spat.

"Guys," Serena said a little impatiently, "we need something to do. You three need to stop sulking."

"I'm not sulking," Blair scowled, "I'm mourning over my first kiss."

Ignoring her barb, Chuck answered, "Yeah, well, you two go spend some time thinking of a game that doesn't involve alcohol for Blair, because clearly it's the root of all her problems."

"Woah man," Nate protested, "you guys all need to calm down. You two will be back to normal by the end of the week for sure. Some unfortunate girl's going to get on one of your nerves and you'll be running to each other for help and putting all of this behind without a minute's hesitation. It happens every time you guys get in a fight."

"Nate Archibald," Carter joked, "look at you. To what do we owe such profound things coming out of your mouth?"

Nate frowned as if in thought for a second, before deadpanning, "I haven't lit up today yet…I skipped on a joint before breakfast?"

This lightened the mood considerably between the five, and Serena clapped her hands like she did whenever she had an idea she thought was brilliant, shouting, "Guys! I have an idea. Let's play I Never. But instead of drinking, we make it Strip I Never. You have a choice of either taking off your clothes for every time you've done something, or you do a truth or dare that the person saying the statement chooses, your choice."

"Hey, not bad, van der Woodsen," Carter grinned – Blair was certain he had a secret thing for Serena – "who's in?"

Everyone sounded off in agreement except for Blair, who insisted, "This is a ridiculous game, and there's no way I'm playing."

"Oh come on, Waldorf," Chuck said, "what's changed?" His eyes held a challenge in them, and they both knew he had her trapped. She could either agree to the challenge and keep her wish that nothing had ever happened between the two of them, or she could back out and act like an easily affected, emotional weakling.

And a Waldorf was never exposed like that, letting everyone psychoanalyze her and having her faults run loose. And plus - it was just a game, and she wouldn't be Blair Waldorf if she wasn't able to win any game she pleased.

She knew what she had to do. Raising her brow and meeting his golden eyes head on, she pronounced her words slowly and clearly.

"I'm in."

_Let the games begin._

* * *

A/N: So, it seems like I was successfully able to confuse most of you ;P Seeing you all thrash about trying to formulate a guess out of who the stranger was very beautiful…and I have no regrets, hehe.

Sorry for the crappy chapter update after a month…I had serious writer's block because I was starting to hate Blair for all the screwed up OOC stuff she did Season 5, but I was rewatching HBIC!Blair and NJBC scenes like in the middle of Season 3, and I'm starting to get the love back again…it pisses me off though, because Blair used to be my queen and role model, actually – she made me a stronger person, in a way – and then she became some man-needing, whiny little psycho idiot and douche (being super politically incorrect or something right now probably), and I really just, UGH. Makes me mad. I'll save you guys the screaming. NJBC, NJBC, NJBC…it's like my calm word. I repeat it over and over in my head and I remember the real Blair and learn to separate OOC Blair Season 5 and Real Blair. I've also been taking a bit of a break from GG…

Oh! And! I'm going to post the clothes from this story and the places they go on my tumblr in the Polaris tag, because I think for the fashion especially, not for you guys to know what I'm talking about would be not doing this story justice…some of the stuff, like the red and pink Charlotte Olympias Blair wore last chapter, are real, and other things – that knit dress from Burberry little Serena wore in the Prologue – are from my imagination. I call it Burberry because it's done in the style of Burberry…and that green draped Lanvin from Lolita? Also from my head, I just see it as something that could definitely go down Alber Elbaz's runway. What I'm thinking for the 'original' clothes and shoes is that I'll draw them out or something, and post it, since it's summer and I'll hopefully have time? I'll also put up the music where I get the lyrics from, and maybe tell you why I chose it and where all the metaphors are for me? And then I'll also post small teasers from new chapters in case it's taking me a really long time to update again – at least you know I haven't given up? I mean, do I even have any readers left…? Is this even worth the effort? -.-

Here – my url is angeldrawntothedarkside, then add: /tagged/polaris

To any of you who know me on tumblr – I used to be itsrainingcatsandpumps, and then I became chairytalesandmonsterdreams and now I'm finally angeldrawntothedarkside. Which I really won't be changing soon because I really, really love it and I've wanted it for a while but been a bit lazy about it…plus it describes me and is from one of my favourite GG scenes _ever. _Damn, condemnation is hot.

To each their own,

valentinosilkflowers.

P.S. I _told _you the stranger was returning this chapter! He's got lots of cameo, too, wouldn't you say? ;D

P.P.S. Okay, you caught me. I'll probably not end up drawing it all out. At least I'll put it on here and try to get to it sometime? Maybe I'll try updating my fic on time, actually.

P.P.P.S. Does that even exist? P.P.P.S.? Anyway, this entire chapter was pretty much all dialogue. Boo. I'm in a foul mood now, I have to go organize a girl's birthday party at the music studio I'm volunteering/interning/getting work experience from, but I have to find Justin Bieber/Katy Perry/One Direction/Bruno Mars posters before late afternoon tomorrow. She's in Grade 4, go figure. Unfortunately, since I don't ever listen to the radio (vile thing ranked high up there among babies and toddlers) I have no interest in these singers and so I don't even know where to start my search for shameless idolizing of these people. Maybe Claire's? Or one of those stereotypic teenage magazines? What's that one called? Tiger Beat?

P.P.P.P.S. It's really reaaaaaaallly late and so I really don't know what I'm saying anymore, but one more thing? I apologize for the anticlimactic resolving of the kiss. Yeah. It was either this or wait another three months...endlessly sorry.


	4. Built For Victory

A/N: Lol. I'm not even sure if you guys remember me because it's actually been more than half a year since I've updated…I'm actually so sorry. Anyway. This is a ridiculously short, shitty update. But I figured, in some perverse way, it was better than not updating at all.

In other news: I just reread all my uploaded work on fanfic an I've decided I need to do some serious rewriting…sincerest apologies, still not sure how y'all got through it all. I want to rewrite/rephrase most of the stuff in here…but I'm too lazy. Maybe I'll get around to it soon…actually, probably not. I'll actually try to update on time instead though, heh.

[insert usual disclaimer I refuse to retype due to monotony]

* * *

**Polaris**

**Chapter Three:**

**Built For Victory**

_Rule number one_

_Is that you gotta have fun_

_But baby when you're done_

_You've got to be the first to run_

* * *

"Soooo," Serena began with a clap of her hands, grin slapped across her perfect face, "who wants to go first?"

If Serena van der Shining Hair made her go first, Blair thought, clenching her jaw, she would not hesitate to shred her best friend's new Balmain to pieces. _Would not hesitate_.

Audible gritting of the teeth aside, Serena was greeted with harsh silence and nothing else.

Undeterred, the blonde declared, "Okay, uh…Natie! You go first, and we'll go clockwise from there. What crime have you never ever _ever _committed before?"

A pair of boyish blue eyes squinted in concentration before lighting up in triumph, and Nate announced, "Never have I ever smoked a Cuban cigar before."

Both Carter and Chuck shrugged off their jackets with a _you're so fucking lame_ roll of their eyes towards Nate, while Serena carefully unclasped the bracelet on her wrist before turning back to the circle, evident glee on her face.

"Okay, Blair's turn now!" The blonde voiced unnecessarily, pretend mike in her hand. "What about you, Miss Waldorf?" Reporter Serena jabbed her invisible speaking device into Blair's face, much to the brunette's amusement and annoyance. "What scandalous activities have you refrained from participating in?"

Blair cocked a brow coolly; there definitely were some major benefits being the goody two shoes among a group of hedonists, especially when it came to a competitive game of I Never.

"Oh, S," Blair began with a patronizing sigh, "there's just so much I've never done before. I've never smoked a cigarette before, never rolled a joint before, never done a body shot, never inhaled coke, never failed an exam before, never gotten anything less than an A plus, never had absinthe, never been anything less than the highest average of the entire school, never–"

"Jesus fucking _Christ_," Carter groaned, "we get it. We really do, Blair, we get it. You don't want to play this game, you're one hundred percent sure you're going to win so you can rub it in all of our faces later on, especially Chuck's" – Carter paused to rub his jaw, clearly looking forward to the last part – "and in conclusion, you're pretty much acting like my _darling_ beloved mother when she's forgotten her Xanax, or whatever fucking pill of choice her morning one is – which is to say, Miss Everything Virgin, pretty fucking high-strung and bitter."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Blair voiced sarcastically, "did you want me to slow that down for you? Maybe only say one statement per round so, you know, you don't end up naked on your ass after not even half a circle? Because I can do that for you, so long as you ask in a decent way." She smiled condescendingly and lowered her voice here, stroking his cheek sadly and stage whispering, "I know it must be hard to appreciate the people around you when you're struggling with serious addictions, but I'm here to help you get through this dark time. We just want the best for you, Carter, really."

The brunette clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut for a good thirty seconds, clearly struggling to accept that he had to suck up to the petite girl, before tightening his hand into a ball and muttering, "Please, just choose one only, okay?" Then, in a much louder voice, "Fucking hell, Waldorf. You're exceedingly anal-retentive, you know."

Blair, for her part, simply crooked her brows up in response. (Though she was grinning inside, chest swelling deliciously from the sweet taste of another victory and witty shutdown, relishing the high of the subsequent power trip that always came with coming out on top).

"See, Carter sweetie," Blair responded, "it wasn't that hard, was it? Just a thorough bashing of your ego, that's all, but all right, I concede. Never…Never have I ever smoked a joint."

"Fuck this," Carter muttered under his breath, "this is just fucking brutal to when done sober. I'm getting the tequila. And you're welcome, van der Woodsen."

Predictably, this announcement led to groaning from the entire group - with the exception of Serena, of course, who squealed for a good minute or two in anticipation of her favourite form of liquor. (How Serena, golden princess of the UES, could tolerate, let alone adore, such a cheap and foul drink, Blair had no idea, though this _was_ also the same girl who wanted a 'gloriously fabulous sprawling estate' in L.A. for vacationing.)

* * *

Several rounds and twenty-five minutes later, Blair was down to her slip and nothing else. (She'd long lost her ruby ring to Carter's inability to get an A in biology, cardigan to Serena's struggle to achieve perfect attendance, heels to Chuck's failure at not pissing at least one teacher off per year, and tights and dress once again to Serena.) Carter, on the other hand, was currently comfortably lounging shirtless, pants the only piece of visible cloth left on his body. Chuck and Nate were in a similar state, only Chuck had somehow managed to bargain being able to leave his shirt unbuttoned but still on while Blair wasn't paying attention and Carter was in the bathroom. As for Serena…clad in only her silky bra and barely-there skirt, the only reason why the blonde wasn't completely naked yet was due to the obscene amount of jewelry she wore.

If there were ever a time to change Strip I Never to Serena's weird Truth-or-Dare I Never, Blair conceded, it was now. At the rapid rate at which they were currently shedding clothes, it would only be another two more rounds before one of them was completely naked. And while Carter and Serena certainly had no shame, there was no way Blair Waldorf was putting it all on display for everyone to see and judge. (Not that anyone needed to know that Blair Waldorf had a weakness.) Instead, she argued that they needed to switch the game up a bit to keep it fun, and plus - if they really did want to continue stripping like a group of hippie nudist keeners, they could always voice it in a dare.

The group had agreed easily - only Chuck had twisted his mouth in contemplation, clearly sensing an ulterior motive to the brunette girl's proposition. He'd let it go, though, no doubt after weighing if it was worth pursuing or not.

Predictably, the new round was started off by Serena once again - only it was, in Blair's most humble opinion, even worse than before, since her best friend had somehow been compelled to relapse into a never-ending slew of cheerleading whenever it wasn't her own turn. The motley cohort went through the shockingly obscene (Carter had most definitely enjoyed kissing Nate too much), the virgin pure (not that anyone _hadn't _known Nate's first crush had been on Serena), and the absolute mundane (it wasn't as though Serena didn't know Blair's go-to strategy for a takedown already), but Blair would've gone as far as streaking on Madison so long as she didn't have to do _that _again, just to prove that it wasn't a big deal. (Because it wasn't. It definitely wasn't. Hadn't been, and wouldn't ever be.)

It was the sixth round when _it_ finally happened. She'd been so close to breathing a sigh of relief, already starting to cruise the wave of elation that came with avoiding what had seemed to be the inevitable...but karma sure was a bitch. Especially to Blair Waldorf.

Carter had, in some sick twist of fate, decided to revisit the taboo and mockingly suggested, "Blairy Bear, since you owe us all a dare...what do you say to some full-on PDA with your dear sweetheart Charles over here? I'm sure you'd both _adore showing us what we missed out on last night."  
_

Goddamned Murphy's Law. But she was Blair Waldorf, and Blair Waldorf did not recognize the word 'defeat' without at least squaring her shoulders and sinking her claws in for a good half a minute. Plus, she figured she could barter a few minutes of procrastination before the dreaded debacle, and possibly even talk her way out of her impossibly debasing situation.

"You know, Carter honey, if you were so _desperate _to watch some action, why didn't you just go to your room and get some on demand? I never pegged you as someone so stingy. It's not as though _Charles_" - Blair practically snarled his name here - "and I have anything between us worth a voyeur's time, would you not say?"

"What, sweetheart? You don't think I'm worth your precious status?" Chuck butted in, his tone infinitely flirtatious, though his eyes were ice.

With a cool smile, their queen turned to Carter. "I suppose," Blair sighed, "if you really wanted a show...I'd best save what sort of face you have left, and let you have what you want this one time, shouldn't I? After all, a queen must listen to her subjects once in a while." (She'd just quickly brush her lips on the skin next to his mouth, she decided, and get the whole thing over with. It wasn't as though she was actually _excited _to kiss him again, anyway. And she definitely hadn't just had to convince herself of the latter.)

Slowly inching her way across the circle, Blair snaked her hands around Chuck's neck, effectively blocking the view of the others. It was just a kiss on his cheek, really; she could do this. Looking into the brunette boy's eyes, she was surprised to find warmth, not frost, but then he was staring down at her mouth in utter boyish concentration, and she'd succumbed to the feeling of _completion _she felt when his lips hesitantly bumped hers, and all plans of a foil flew out the window, her entire being seemingly seizing up in flames. A niggling voice in the back of her head told her she was going to regret this rash act of wearing her nonexistent heart on her sleeve, but it all felt too disturbingly right and good for her to be compelled enough to stop.


End file.
